Just put me in a home

I’m to the point this evening that I need either home health care or a maid.  Neither should I be allowed to drive. Our dishwasher broke down a couple weeks ago.  I have had a dishwasher since I was 3 months pregnant with the first child.  The transition back in time to a darker age when each dish had to be handled, slippery and soapy, has been a difficult one.

Which do you want to see a picture of?  The broken plate, the broken glass, or the bloody paper towel? How about none of the above?  I cut a knuckle, a body part not receptive to the proper application of the standard rectangle band-aid, not even the cute ones that look like strips of bacon.

I am tired.  I worked 10 hours yesterday because the system was down most of the day and they needed help to catch up.  Because of that, they authorized early check in and staying late today.  I ended up putting in 10 3/4 hours with a half hour for lunch.  I came home late, dizzy, and hungry, but am married to a man who doesn’t mind mowing, trimming and cooking.  Therefore, I decided I should earn a few grains of salt and wash the dishes.  For some reason, Honey didn’t want blood in the dishwater.  Suds sharks?  He plopped a paper towel on the rivulet of blood and took over the dishes while I rummaged for a band-aid.  What a guy.  That’s why I keep him.

As soon as the House rerun is over, I am heading to bed.  The second presidential debate is on tonight, one in which the McCain camp promised to take off the gloves, but my mental state, fatigue and sliced knuckle  is not up to wading through the mud for truth.  I will catch the pundits tomorrow and update my satellite election blog, In Case You Missed It, when the slinging is slung purging truth from dung.

See y’all tomorrow.  Hey, on a lighter note, the fall colors are performing for our entertainment since science knows how they turn but not why.  So I guess God set it up for our pleasure.

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